


SteveTony Art/Fic Madness Challenge Fics

by FestiveFerret



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Artist Steve Rogers, Baseball, Early Mornings, Established Relationship, Falling In Love, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Get Together, Late Nights, Love, Loving moments, M/M, Painting, Pining, Pining Steve, Romance, Surprise Wings, Wings, tony's hair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-03-22 01:37:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13753515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FestiveFerret/pseuds/FestiveFerret
Summary: Each chapter will be a fill for the SteveTony Art/Fic Madness challenge.One - "Morning" for Maniibear - Steve is a morning person; Tony is a night owl.Two - "Hair" for Kelslk - Steve really, really wants to pet Tony's hair.Three - "Home Run" for Faite - With the Dodgers in LA, Steve needs a new baseball team.Four - "Negative Space" for salable_mystic - Steve enjoys painting the Iron Man armour. His team seems to think there's something funny about that.Five - "3 am" for mrsgingles - They fell in love at 3 am, one day at a time.Six - "Wings" for Crumbles_Of_Reality - It started as an itch.Seven - "Air Support" for Dophne - Sometimes Cap needs to call in a little extra support.





	1. "Morning"

**Author's Note:**

  * For [adarksweetness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adarksweetness/gifts), [kelslk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelslk/gifts), [faite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/faite/gifts), [salable_mystic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/salable_mystic/gifts), [mrsgingles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsgingles/gifts), [Crumbles_Of_Reality](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crumbles_Of_Reality/gifts), [Dophne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dophne/gifts).



> Join the challenge [here!](https://cap-ironman.dreamwidth.org/1866602.html)
> 
> I'll be updating this as I write more fills.
> 
> Edit: That's it folks!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is a morning person; Tony is a night owl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Maniibear (adarksweetness) for [this beautiful art!](http://maniibear.tumblr.com/post/167368817562/good-morning-beloved)

Steve was a morning person. He didn’t need much sleep, and he preferred to get it early then wake up and have the long morning stretch out in front of him like an open road. Noon was miles away, bedtime a distant shape on the horizon. And there was nothing like Avengers Tower first thing in the morning.

He woke with the sun, letting the long wall of glass next to the bed spill bright, orange rays over his closed eyes, warming his cheeks. The light pooled and settled in the creases of the blanket like molten metal, red and gold. He smiled and swirled his hand through it, thinking of sleek plates of painted gold-titanium alloy.

The air was crisp, but that only made it easier to wake up. Steve slipped out of bed and stretched tall, breathing in deep. He woke up in bits and pieces, his lungs kicking in first with the full breath, followed by his heart, pumping blood into his chilled feet. He preferred waking with them pressed against overheated calves, his hands wrapped around a warm stomach, nose buried in soft hair, but he didn’t mind waking alone when he knew it was all for the best.

He pulled on his uniform, not bothering with civvies today since he’d be heading straight into SHIELD for training exercises. The new recruits were coming along nicely, too nicely. He wouldn’t be able to introduce any of them to Tony, or they’d all be invited to come live at the tower.

Steve smiled to himself as he spread butter on his toast, his uniform half unzipped and trailing behind him as he wandered around the opulent kitchen of the penthouse. He added a banana to his plate and ate standing by the window, looking out at the freshly waking city, the news playing softly behind him on the TV.

The light bounced off the glass of the massive tower and scattered over the adjacent buildings, leaving the street below in deep shadow while the tips of the tallest buildings glowed. Steve closed his eyes and let the light dance a technicolour show over his eyelids.

The tower was quiet this time of the morning. He could feel it, even up here in their private suite. He knew the others were still curled in their beds, no one so much a morning person as Steve was. The lower floors would be dark, too far down to feel the piercing rays of sunrise yet, and almost eerily still, like the moment of a held breath. It would all be let out in a slow exhale as alarms went off and people came into work and filled the tower with chatter and bustle and the smell of coffee.

But for now, all was still. And Steve’s.

The news anchor mentioned the time, and Steve startled back; if he didn’t hurry, he’d be late. And there was something he had to do first. He set his plate in the sink and zipped his uniform up with one hand while licking the last of the crumbs off the other. The elevator was already waiting - benefits of an omniscient, never-sleeping, all-seeing, electronic butler.

“Thanks, JARVIS,” he said, stepping in.

“My pleasure, Captain.”

The elevator shot down but stopped after only a few floors, and Steve smiled. He’d been hoping it would. His final destination was the garage, and his bike, but for now, he stepped out on the quinjet landing pad and laughed when the wild wind whipped around his face and nearly stole his balance.

The crisp, fall air was invigorating, if you could catch a mouthful of it up this high. It was thin and wild, but fresher than down below. Steve walked to the edge and peered over, thrilling at the way his stomach swooped. The height didn’t bother him, and he wondered if that was because he knew that if he fell, he’d be caught.

This city never slept, but it was still quieter than midday, the sidewalks bare save for a few joggers. Taxis with early commuters pressed down the street, but there was a subdued hum over the city, a blanket of sunrise that would slowly lift as Manhattan woke.

Steve gazed out over the city, and he waited.

**

Tony was a night owl. If he was on a roll, he liked to see it through, knowing that in the morning that thread would be gone and he’d have to dig around and find the end of it all over again. So once he had it firmly in his grasp, he pushed through until he came out the other end, red-eyed and bleary but with a new creation.

It meant long nights, but Tony didn’t need much sleep anyway. Besides, he slept next to the peak of human perfection, these days - when he did go up to bed - so there was a solid chance they wouldn’t end up sleeping anyway. Not that Tony took issue with _that._ Fuck no.

The tower was perfect at night. Everything was hazy and unfocused, hidden in long shadows. It made it easy to think on a huge scale. The edges of the workshop were lost to darkness and that made them infinite. Tony could spread his ideas out to the end of the earth and back and see what they picked up along the way. Boundless scope of creation.

There were fewer assembles at night, too. And his teammates were all tucked in their beds, vitals monitored by JARVIS. The six-count heartbeat of the Avengers slowed to an easy rhythm as the tower slept. Well, five, really. Tony’s raced with the rush of manic invention, driving him on to push the limits of what physics, biology, economy allowed for. Anything was possible when the city was too asleep to notice you breaking the laws of gravity.

But unfortunately, no matter how important his work was, time ticked on, the advance nearly audible in the back of his mind. And eventually, he would have to crash. This work was _good work,_ though. And he was close to a breakthrough.

He’d just clinched it, found the best way to restructure to make his vision a reality, when a sharp blade of red, morning light shot through the centre of his wireframe display. He cupped his hand in the blue hologram and caught the beam of light on his palm. The red and blue on the pale white of his hand made him smile and think about acres of smooth skin and soft lips he hadn’t made it up to see last night. Steve would understand, but that didn’t make him miss him any less.

The light meant it was time to move, though. He’d followed this idea through, and before he was snagged by a new one, he needed to get some sleep. Tony tidied his desk, tucking all his tools away in their drawers and cupboards. JARVIS saved all his projects and flicked the holograms off.

Tony checked his email on his phone one last time as he stood and stretched tall, popping the aches and creaks out of his back. He really needed to invent a more ergonomic chair. He pulled the blender jar off its base and tipped back the whole thing, pouring the last of the smoothie into his mouth, his eyes still on his phone. Emptied, he tossed the blender into the sink and wiped his mouth.

“J, is Cap up?” he asked.

“Yes, Sir. He’s just getting ready to leave for SHIELD.”

“Perfect. Operation: Passing Ships.”

The armour burst to life and flew across the workshop, forming around him, plates snapping into place even as he moved towards the exit.

There was one more thing he needed to do before bed.

**

“Good morning, beloved.”

The whir of repulsors broke the quiet morning, and Steve grinned, standing back from the edge of the landing pad to watch as Tony burst up from below, the armour brilliant with morning sun. He glowed, broken into vibrantly reflected panels, almost abstract in the way the light split him into pieces. There was nothing more beautiful to Steve in the whole world.

Tony stepped out of the air and onto the landing pad in front of Steve. The faceplate popped open, and he wasted no time before gripping Steve’s waist and hauling him in for a kiss. He was chilled, probably from sitting still too long in his workshop, and Steve pulled him even closer, trying to pour a little warmth from his lips to Tony’s.

“Sorry I wasn’t in bed tonight,” Tony whispered when they pulled a scant inch apart.

Steve slid his hand between the helmet and Tony’s cheek, cupping the sharp edge of his jaw and smoothing his thumb over the rough scratch of Tony’s beard. He smelled like the oil he used to ease the slide of the armour’s joints. Sharp, chemical, familiar. “It’s okay. You have deadlines, I know. How’d it go?”

“Pretty good. I think I cracked it. Maybe one more night. Then I’m all yours again.”

“Perfect.” Steve couldn’t resist another kiss

“Mmm. Lunch today?” Tony asked.

“I have training at SHIELD until two.”

Tony rubbed his gauntleted hands over Steve’s hips, and Steve wondered what that was like, if Tony could really tell what Steve felt like under his hands, or if the memory of all the times they’d been skin to skin there was enough.

“I’ll have JARVIS wake me up at 1:30 then. And I’ll meet you at that Italian place.”

“The one with the pig on the door?”

“No, the red tablecloth one.”

“Okay. Lunch at two.” Steve caught Tony’s gaze and held it, tipping into the soft affection he found there.

“Lunch at two.”

They hung there for a moment, basking in the breaking of the morning sun, holding in the place where their lives met, however briefly. Loving Tony was a spiderweb, a constant search for the places where their threads intersected, filling those little junctions with as much of each other as they could. Every stolen moment was perfect, in its own way, and Steve wouldn’t trade it for anything.

“I love you.”

Tony pressed a last kiss to Steve’s forehead before taking two steps back towards the edge of the landing pad. “Love you, too.”

Tony took off, and Steve watched him swoop through the air, drawing a streak of red and gold in a spiral around the tower. He switched his comm on before he headed back inside and down to the garage to start his day, knowing JARVIS would patch it through. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always wished "Good morning, beloved" was MCU canon too! <3


	2. "Hair"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve really, really wants to pet Tony's hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For kelslk for [ this beautiful art!](http://kelslk-art.tumblr.com/post/157698782429/tonys-hair-is-cute-and-soft)

“Captain, are you listening?”

Steve startled out of his daze and met Fury’s eyes. “Yes, Sir.” He willed himself not to blush, likely with little success. Fury looked unconvinced, but he turned back to the briefing. He should be listening, he really should, but every time he tried, his attention would wander, his eyes would shift just a little to the left where Tony sat in front of him. 

He glued his gaze to the slideshow up front.

For three minutes.

He couldn’t resist flicking his eyes over. Tony usually sat behind him for briefings, but today, Nat and Clint had already been in the meeting room when the rest of them had filed in, and Tony had chosen the seat next to Steve, which meant when they all turned to face the screen for Fury’s rundown, Steve had a perfect view of the back of Tony’s head.

And it was a little distracting.

Steve didn’t know how Tony managed to make his hair look so good every day, but he did. Today it was slicked smooth, a few strands making shapely curls against the back of his neck. Steve’s fingers itched to reach out and touch - they always itched to reach out and touch - which was a huge problem because no one knew about Steve’s painful crush and he wasn’t in a hurry to reveal it. And friends didn’t go around petting friends’ hair for no reason. 

Steve sighed and turned it into a cough when Bruce shot him a raised eyebrow. It wasn’t that bad. He could resist.

**

It was awful. Steve’s hand was moving on its own, reaching out towards Tony’s hair. Tony startled, and Steve mumbled something about needing a granola bar, forcing his hand to reach past Tony’s head to the cupboard behind him. Tony smiled and shifted along the counter where he leaned with his coffee mug to give Steve space to dig one out of the box.

“Thanks.”

“Mhm.” Tony went back to his phone. He was decked out for SI today, a beautiful three-piece suit, crisply tailored to accentuate all the curves he built alongside his bots in the workshop. And his hair. It was fluffed up at the front today, a perfect wave framing Tony’s face.

Steve clutched his granola bar too hard as he peeled it open, crushing the bottom half into dust. He didn’t even want it. He wanted to touch Tony. He didn’t have space to want anything else. “Meeting today?” he tried, just to bring Tony’s attention back to him for a moment.

It worked. Tony lifted his chin and shot Steve a lazy smile. “Yeah. You know how it is, gotta make an appearance once or twice a decade to appease the board.”

Steve choked back the urge to say,  _ And it’s quite the appearance, _ along with an entire mouthful of oats and nuts. Tony stepped forward and patted him gently on the back. 

“Careful there, Cap. How embarrassing would it be for Captain America to be taken down by a snack food?” Steve shot him a look, and he laughed. “I can see the headlines now -  Nazi Germany defeater and HYDRA eradicator Captain “America” Steve Rogers died today when a perfectly innocent peanut became lodged in his throat.”

Steve coughed and grabbed his glass of water. He rolled his eyes at Tony. “I’d like to think you wouldn’t let me go down without a fight.”

“Well, you know me. I’m a one-trick pony. I could repulsor the peanut, but I think I might get your face in the crossfire.” He leaned in closer, and Steve’s heart skipped several beats. “And what a shame that would be, it’s such a pretty face.”

Steve stammered stupidly and sucked down the rest of his water while Tony set his mug in the sink and wandered out with a wink.

Steve was so screwed.

**

An octopus Steve could deal with. A giant octopus wouldn’t even be that bad. But a giant electrified octopus? That was pushing today solidly into “awful” territory and it was barely lunchtime. But they were the Avengers, and that was what they did. Steve managed to avoid getting shocked until the very end of the fight when the octopus  - finally knocked unconscious by one of Clint’s stunning arrows - flailed out unexpectedly and caught him in the shin. He hit the ground like a sack of potatoes, every muscle tensing then releasing, leaving him gasping and sore.

“Cap, you okay? Steve?” Tony hit the ground next to him with a spray of concrete dust.

Steve held up a finger while he tried to find his breath again. After a moment, he was able to shake off the effects of the shock and sit up on the pavement. Tony was crouching next to him, the helmet completely off, his warm brown eyes wide with worry and fixed on Steve. Steve tried to speak, to assure him he was okay, but Tony’s hair was a wild mess of erratic, sweaty half-curls, sticking up in a halo around his head. He looked like he’d just spent an hour in a tumble dryer, which probably wasn’t that far off from what being in the armour felt like. He was beautiful.

There was a rustle of footsteps behind him, and Nat spoke. “He okay?”

“I don’t think so.” Tony rested a hand on Steve’s shoulder, gauntleted, but somehow still warm. “Cap, you with me?”

“Yes,” Steve finally found his tongue. “Yes, sorry, I’m fine. Just dazed.”  _ Dazed by you,  _ Steve didn’t add. This was getting ridiculous. He couldn’t be around Tony for five minutes before he turned into a drooling mess, or tried to touch him, or something. It was humiliating.

Tony reached out a hand to pull Steve to his feet which put them chest to chest, and Tony was just shorter enough than Steve that he could lean over and bury his face in the wild mess of hair on Tony’s head. He  _ could,  _ but he  _ wouldn’t. _

_ He wouldn’t. _

**

Steve screwed the lid back on the almond butter and licked an errant drip from his finger. He smiled to himself as he loaded the plate with sandwiches. Tony didn’t  _ need  _ Steve to bring him food. JARVIS would order takeout if Tony went too long in a build-binge, which he hadn’t been too bad for lately anyway. But if he went more than a day without seeing Tony around the common areas, Steve had made it a habit to bring a snack down, usually under the guise of wanting one himself. 

Really, he just liked an excuse to visit Tony in the lab. 

He felt awkward just showing up, but if he brought something down - food or a strategy question or a mod to his uniform - he found it easy to stay after, curled up on the squishy couch in the corner while Tony worked. He brought a book or his StarkTab, but he spent most of the time watching Tony. Mooning over Tony, more like. 

Steve sighed at the elevator buttons, watching the light work its way down to Tony’s floor. He shifted one of the sandwiches on the plate. It was a little stupid, he supposed, to put himself through it, but being around Tony made him happy, as much as it hurt a little that it wasn’t the way he wanted. At the end of the day, though, Tony was his best friend, and every minute they were together was a minute well spent, even when it stung.

He turned backwards to push through the workshop door with his hands full, but when he turned back, Tony wasn’t a whirlwind of movement and design, no holograms filled the air over his desk, and the speakers were silent instead of pounding with a heavy bassline.

Tony was asleep.

He was facedown on his desk, arms sprawled out in front of him, cheek flat where it pressed against the glass surface. He was dressed in a ratty t-shirt and soft SI sweats. Steve could make out the “K” of “STARK” where it was stamped across his butt. 

Steve set the plate and his tablet down and shifted up next to where Tony lay. He must have showered since Steve had seen him that morning because the product was washed out of his hair and it was light and fluffy, forming a sleep-wild cloud of wavy curls that couldn’t seem to decide which direction they were twisting in. 

It was too much; months of pining and yearning and gazing snapped in a moment, and Steve’s hand darted out and furrowed through the soft, dark locks. It was everything he’d imagined it would be. Tony’s skin was warm and his hair was sleek and fluffy, giving easily as Steve ran his hand through it. 

Tony sucked in a breath and startled up to his feet, staring around the workshop in confusion, and Steve snatched his hand back, cheeks flushing immediately.

“What?” Tony smacked his dry lips together and blinked furiously at Steve.

“Sorry. You fell asleep.” Steve grabbed for the plate, nearly knocking all the sandwiches to the floor, desperate for a distraction. “I brought you food.”

Steve hung there, frozen, holding the plate out like an offering, or maybe an apology, and Tony stared at him, going through a visible boot sequence as his brain came back online. He looked down at the sandwiches then back up at Steve. “Did you pet my hair?”

“I -” Steve swallowed hard and shoved the plate at Tony until he took it. Tony looked down at the plate again then back at Steve. “Maybe…” Steve squeaked out. “Sorry.”

“No… ‘t was nice.” Tony blinked at him again then yawned. He set the plate down and picked up one of the sandwiches, licking jam off of the edge and smiling. “Thanks.”

“Oh. Well. Good.” Steve couldn’t decide if his best option was a hasty retreat, standing still and hoping that Tony’s attention was based on movement, or walking over to the couch like nothing had happened.

For some bizarre reason, his hand opted for option four which hadn’t even been on the list. It reached out and ruffled through Tony’s hair again. Tony smiled dopily at Steve and shifted closer until they were pressed side to side. When he leaned into the touch, eyes fixed on Steve’s, Steve reached around to cup the back of his head, urging him even closer. They were tumbling downhill and there was no stopping it now. 

The kiss was sweet and chaste, a light press of lips that was more smile than anything else, but Tony kissed back, leaned his weight into Steve’s side, and when Steve pulled away, he smiled, a dusting of pink breaking out across his cheeks and, adorably, up to the tips of his ears. Steve couldn’t resist the mop of hair under his hand, now that he had free access, so he dug his fingers through again, fluffing the hair on the top of his head then furrowing back through it. Tony’s grin widened.

“Been waiting for you to do that for a while, Cap,” Tony said softly.

Steve’s blush heated further. “Well, your hair is pretty hard to resist.”

Tony snorted out a laugh then wound his arms around Steve’s waist, pulling him flush against him. “I meant the kiss, but that’s good too.”

Steve reached up, plowed both hands through Tony’s soft, fluffy hair and dragged him in for another one.


	3. "Home Run"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the Dodgers in LA, Steve needs a new baseball team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Faite, for one of my favourite arts of all time! [Stony and baseball!](http://hellogarbagetime.tumblr.com/post/147483016744/i-dont-know-why-i-like-the)

“Okay, go get your shoes”

Steve blinked up from where he’d been staring blankly at a book. He hadn’t turned a page in a while. “What?”

“Go grab your shoes. We’re going out.” Tony tugged his button-down shirt out of his waistband as he walked towards the elevator doors, typing furiously on his phone with his other hand. 

Steve hurried to follow him. “Where are we going?”

“To a baseball game. I need to change.”

“But the Mets aren’t playing tonight. And it’s only three in the afternoon.” Steve narrowed his eyes at Tony, but he was still glued to his phone. “You’re not taking me to the Yankees, are you?”

“Hmm? Bring a hat. Supersoldiers still get sunburn, right?” The doors opened at the penthouse, and Tony walked out, making Steve realize he’d failed to hit the button for his own floor. 

He tapped it now, and when he walked out and looked out the window of his apartment at the bucketing rain, he frowned. “I don’t think sunburn is going to be an issue…”

**

Six and a half hours later, they were at Dodgers Stadium in LA, settled in the most opulent box seats Steve had ever seen, a full buffet laid out behind them. 

“This is crazy,” Steve repeated, for likely the eight hundredth time. “I can’t believe we flew across the country for a baseball game.”

“It’s good though, right? You miss your team.” Tony looked almost nervous, fiddling with his glass of champagne. And the fact that Tony had champagne at a baseball game was weird enough to throw Steve for a loop, let alone the interstitial day trip.

“Yeah. It’s nice, Tony. Thank you. I’ve never been to LA.”

“We could stay for a bit. Look at… stuff. This is my old stomping ground. You like the ocean?”

Steve shot him a warm smile. “I have training tomorrow. And you have a board meeting.”

“How do you know about that?” Tony grumbled.

“I heard Pepper mention it the other day. Don’t think I don’t know you took me on this trip to try and escape it.”

Steve was joking, but Tony looked at him seriously. “That’s not why. It’s for you.”

“Oh. Well, thank you, Tony, really. It’s good to see the Dodgers at home again. Even if it’s the wrong home.”

They trounced the Rockies, and Steve found himself celebrating along with the locals. Sure, it was an entirely different team, but he wasn’t the only one there with an old style “B” hat, and it almost felt like home. To his surprise, Tony was deeply into it too. He never watched the games with Steve on TV, but he was clearly very knowledgeable and didn’t hesitate to suck Steve into an argument about appropriate use of relief pitching when you’re up three runs in the seventh.

By the time they filed out, well fed, a little dizzy from yelling, and a little sun-stunned, Steve couldn’t keep his grin under control. He bumped Tony’s shoulder with his own. “Thanks again. This was really fun.”

“I can get this box for the season,” Tony offered. “You can take the jet even if I can’t go with you every time. Your team needs you, Steve!” Tony walked close beside him, shooting him a grin.

Steve shrugged and smiled wistfully up at the LA Dodgers banner. “Nah… they’re not my team anymore. It was good to see them, but it’s time to move on.”

“To who?”

“I don’t know.”

Tony was quiet for the rest of the trip back to the airport, then suddenly, once they were settled on the plane, he spoke up. “JARVIS, make a plan. One game in each of the MLB stadiums, focus on National League, but let’s do American League too if you can make it work. Schedule it around my obligations and Steve’s and then lock them in. Book the jet and file flight plans. Order tickets, etc.”

Steve gaped at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“You need to find a new team,” Tony said, like it was the most obvious solution to that problem

“But the - that’s so expensive! I can watch on TV - I do watch on TV. You don’t need to spend the season carting me around the country,” Steve spluttered. Did Tony really want to do that?

“You haven’t been able to find a team to cheer for by watching it on TV, though. But if you don’t want to…”

“Oh no, I want to. It sounds amazing. I just don’t want to put you out.”

“You’re not.” Tony tapped his phone against his leg with an air of finality. “J, book it.”

“As you wish, Sir.”

This was going to be a very interesting summer.

**

Steve didn’t think it would have been possible for a regular person to plan out the season so perfectly, but JARVIS managed it. From May through August, then spent most weekends and the occasional weekday evening at a new ballpark. When they could, when they had time, Tony booked a hotel as well, and they hit the town, exploring the various cities. Steve had seen some of them, on his post-Chitauri road trip, but seeing them with Tony was entirely different experience. He booked lavish suites on the top floors of the most expensive hotels. He took Steve out for burgers in a hole-in-wall dive one night and for exquisitely prepared sushi with far too many zeros on the bill another. 

The summer was a whirlwind of baseball and Tony.

Steve worried, at first, that he was taking too much of Tony’s extremely valuable time, that Tony felt obligated to entertain him, since he knew Steve didn’t have many friends in this century - not that he ever had many. He worried until the Mariners game, and then he stopped worrying about that and started worrying about something else.

“Do we have a contender?” Tony asked, after Steve yelped excitedly at a grounder double that put the Mariners in scoring position.

“Oh.” Steve looked at the field thoughtfully. “I don’t know. I try to enthusiastically cheer for the home team wherever we go.” They’d seen 12 teams now and every trip had been amazing.

“You’re more into the Mariners than the Giants. Maybe not as much as the Marlins, though. That was a good game.”

Steve laughed. “Are you keeping track?”

Tony held up his phone. There was a spreadsheet open on it. “It’s not science if you don’t write it down, Steve.”

“I didn’t know this was science.”

“Well, yes, it is.”

“Because you’re writing it down?”

“Because I’m writing it down.”

Steve snorted. “So, I like the Mariners, huh?”

Tony tipped his sunglasses down his nose and gave Steve a considering look over them. “I don’t know, _ do you?”  _ He hovered his finger over the spreadsheet.

Steve broke into full-on laughter, nearly choking on a peanut. “Yeah, I guess so. Still haven't made up my mind though.”

“Good. We’ve got eighteen more teams to see.”

The game started up again, but Steve couldn’t tear his eyes away from Tony. After a moment, Tony noticed, looking back at him, head tilted in curiosity. “Do you really not mind doing this?” Steve asked.

“Mind?” Tony’s brow creased. “Why would I mind?”

“It’s a lot of your time…”

Tony blinked at him. “But we’re having fun… right?”

“Well, I am.”

“Do you think I’m not?”

Steve considered Tony for a moment, thought back on the way he argued violently with every pitching change, how he got a hot dog at every stadium even though he said hot dogs were disgusting, how he talked incessantly from the moment they left the stadium to wheels down in New York every, single time. Something flickered to life in Steve’s stomach, and he realized with a dawning sense of both horror and anticipation that there was more he loved about these trips than the baseball. “No, no. I know you do. I’m glad you do. I just know you’re busy.”

“Never too busy for Captain America and baseball. That’s like, patriotism squared. Ups my patriot points. Going to trade them in for a pet eagle someday.” Tony patted Steve on the knee and turned back to his spreadsheet. “How would you say they rank mascot wise? Moose is pretty cool, but I feel like it’s off message from the whole seafaring thing.”

“Sure, Tony.” Steve spent the rest of the game watching the man beside him out of the corner of his eye, humming with the new revelation that was slowly filling him up from toes to nose.

**

“We’re not going to Boston, Tony.”

“But I have the tickets already.”

“Donate them.”

“It’s my alma mater, Steven.”

“And I’m a real New Yorker. We’re not going to Boston.”

“This isn’t a proper survey unless we see all the teams.”

“We will see all the _ teams _ . We will not, however, see the trash heap that is the Red Sox.”

“Fine. We’re going to Chicago twice then to make up for it.”

“...”

“Law of Conservation of Sox.”

“Goodnight, Tony.”

**

They spent a whole long weekend in Toronto. The Jays ended up pretty high on the list, but in the end, Steve just couldn’t bring himself to cheer for another country.

“That _ would  _ be awkward,” Tony mused on the plane home. “Captain America cheers for the canucks. We’d have to start smuggling you over the border.”

“I suppose. I do like the Skydome though.”

“I could buy it for you, change the name back. Or make it the Stevedome.” Tony stretched out across a whole row of plane seats, his feet hanging off the other end, arms folded behind his head. 

“You don’t have to buy me anything, Tony. I just like spending time with you.” The admission spilled out before Steve could reel it in or make it sound a little less desperate.

Tony turned to the side to look at Steve. He smiled. “I like spending time with you too. This is the best summer I’ve had in a long time.” He settled on his back again and closed his eyes. “Starkdome… I like the sound of that.”

Steve was pretty sure it was the best summer he’d _ ever  _ had.

**

“Tony, get your shoes, I’m taking you out.”

Tony looked up from the piece of metal he was twisting back in place. “I’m already wearing shoes.”

“It’s a saying.” Steve bounced on his toes, grinning.

“No, it’s not.”

“It is now. I’m Captain America, I can make up sayings.”

Tony set his tools down. “That’s not how that works.”

“Get your shoes, Tony!” Steve darted back out of the workshop and smiled to himself when he heard Tony stand up and follow him. 

“Where are we going?” Tony asked, taking the hoodie that Steve offered him and pulling it on.

“I found my team!”

“We don’t have a game booked today.” Tony glanced at his phone with the air of someone who wasn’t always confident what “today” was. “JARVIS would have told me.”

“I know. I booked this one.”

The elevator opened at the garage level and Tony dug his sunglasses out of his pocket and put them on. “Did you call Happy?”

Steve grinned, then plucked a helmet off the wall. “Nope.”

The bike ride was exhilarating, darting between the stopped traffic. When they hit the open air of the bridge, Tony’s arms tightened around Steve’s back, and he pressed his face into Steve’s shoulder. Steve couldn’t help but yearn into the touch. It was safe and comforting having Tony wrapped around him. And deeply satisfying that Tony trusted him enough to hold on and let Steve be the one to drag him along for an adventure, this time.

“Coney Island?” Tony yelled over the wind, pushing his lips close to Steve’s ear and making him shiver. “What are we doing here?”

Steve didn’t answer. He parked his bike in the garage and took Tony by the elbow, leading him the one block to MCU Park. 

“Seriously?” Tony screeched to a halt. “This is minor league.”

“I know.” Steve shifted a bit, nervous now. “Please?”

“What do you mean, ‘please’?” Tony grumbled. His eyes darted around for a moment and he tugged his hood up over his head. “I never said I wasn't going. Come on, we’re going to miss the first pitch.” 

Steve laughed and led the way to the gate. He had tickets already - JARVIS had helped him buy them online - and little butterflies of anticipation jolted around in his stomach when Tony shot him an intrigued look but didn’t comment. Steve tried to turn towards the seats, but Tony grabbed the corner of his hoodie and pulled him the other way. “Come on, Rogers. You going to buy me crackerjacks or what?”

“Oh, I’m going to buy them for you?” Steve raised an eyebrow, unable to keep the smirk off his face.

“Well, yeah. I’ve taken you to 26 games, about time one was your treat.”

Steve laughed. “Alright. Come on.”

Tony demanded crackerjacks, soda, and popcorn, refusing a tray but then trying to awkwardly shove everything in his arms. Steve grabbed the popcorn and pulled him away, back towards their seats. He threw an arm boldly around Tony’s shoulders while they walked and thrilled when Tony leaned into it.

They reached the edge of the concourse and paused, looking out over the park. “I can’t believe I offered you full access to any team in the whole country - or Canada! We even went to Canada that one time - and you end up in Coney Island. The Cyclones, huh?”

“Yup.” Steve grinned down at him, pulling him even closer.

“You’ll need a new hat.”

“Nah, I think I’ll keep this one. They won't mind here. I could get you one, though.” He knew they should move towards their seats, but Steve couldn’t pull his eyes away from the side of Tony’s face. 

Tony looked down at his phone where he was scrolling through the Cyclones’ schedule, squeezing his snacks under his arm and risking a soda disaster. “They play a team called the Muckdogs,” he said. “I’m going to have to buy the whole league and change all their names.” He looked around the park. “And build better boxes.”

“Don’t you dare!” Steve laughed and finally gave in to the impulse to press his lips against Tony’s cheek. Nerves exploded in his stomach. This felt like a tipping point. Tony could laugh and shove him away and make all of it a joke. They’d keep going to games and being best friends and these feelings would fade, eventually. Or -

Tony sighed into his palm, laughing too, but trying to look annoyed. “You know, if I knew you were such a cheap date four months ago, I could have saved myself a lot of mileage on my private jet.” He turned his head to meet Steve’s eye, still tucked into Steve’s hold, and smiled up at him, almost shyly now.

Steve kissed him. Short and sweet, not enough to garner any attention from the crowd, but with enough purpose behind it to show Tony what he wanted, what all this meant to him. When he pulled away, Tony was still smiling. “So, the Cyclones,” he said softly.

“Yup.” Steve lead them down the steps, still holding Tony tightly under his arm. They found their seats, and Tony took a moment to arrange his snacks, handing Steve one of the sodas. 

Tony shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth then tapped a button on his phone. “J, book tickets for every Cyclones game for the rest of the season, make an embarrassingly large donation - let’s see if we can’t get something named after Ste-” Steve cut him off with another kiss.

“Tony,” he chastised gently. “Just enjoy the game.”

They won.


	4. "Negative Space"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve enjoys painting the Iron Man armour. His team seems to think there's something funny about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For salable_mystic for chapters one, two, and seven of [this gorgeous collection of portraits!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11676030?view_full_work=true)
> 
> I went kind of meta with this one, hope you don't mind! :D

“Tony again?” 

Steve spun around in his chair, hooking his pinky finger through the cord to tug one of his earbuds out. “What?”

Clint gestured towards the canvas. “You’re painting Tony again. It’s good. I like the colours.”

Steve looked back at the painting. Again? When he thought about it, he had painted Iron Man a few times, but not enough to warrant that tone. “The armour is an interesting subject.” He frowned thoughtfully at the blue and yellow. “I wanted to try it in counter colours.” 

He turned back to Clint who gave him an unreadable look and took a bite of his apple. “Right. Well, I like it.”

“Thanks.” Steve tucked his earbud back in and fiddled with his brush. He wasn’t sure why, but something about the way Clint had said that didn’t sit well with him. 

**

It happened again two months later. Steve walked through the common room in his painting shirt, and Thor called out, “Which version of Tony are you painting today, my friend?” as he walked by.

Steve screeched to a halt. Clint, Nat, Thor, and Bruce were all gathered around the TV watching some show with a lot of yelling and CGI fire. No one seemed to think that was an odd question. “Why?”

“Just curious, Captain. I like your paintings. They’re very vibrant. They remind me of Asgard.”

Steve blinked at him blankly for a moment. “I mean, why do you think I’m going to paint Tony?” 

Bruce shot him an odd look, then caught Thor’s eye and they shared something between them. Steve huffed in frustration and stomped off before they could mock him more. Why did everyone think it was weird when he painted the armour? He’d painted the rest of them enough times. 

After he’d already settled in his studio, however, he realized that he hadn’t mentioned to anyone that he’d planned out another painting of Iron Man’s gauntlets for today. How had Thor known?

**

Steve set up a fresh sheet of paper and started digging his paints out. 

“Painting Tony?” Nat asked from the corner.

Steve rounded on her. He hadn’t even started. What made her say that? He looked around at the finished pieces he had laid out along the wall and they were a healthy mix of landscapes, teammates, still lifes, and abstract colour work. “Why? Maybe I’ll paint something else.” He sounded petulant even to his own ears. The truth was, he had been facing the urge to paint the Iron Man armour again, something dynamic with the repulsors, but how did she know that? He sat down hard on his stool, abandoning his paints. 

She laughed. “You’re going to paint Tony.”

“I don’t get it.” He tossed his brush aside and crossed his arms, glaring at her. “It’s like there’s a joke about me painting Iron Man that everyone here gets but me.”

She stood and crossed the room, smiling gently now. Her hand landed on the top of his head. “Sorry, Steve. It’s just - you paint Tony whenever he goes on a business trip or is away from the tower for more than a few days. It’s like clockwork. You never paint him otherwise. We thought you knew.”

Steve’s mouth fell open. He spun on his stool to face his finished works and - yeah. Tony had been away for each of the many Iron Man paintings he’d done. He could name a city for each of them. He felt his cheeks heat as he ran down the list in his head. 

“You really hadn’t noticed?” Nat asked softly.

“No.”

Her hand petted gently through his hair for a moment then she walked out, and Steve was left alone with a glaring line of Iron Man paintings and a growing pit of anxiety in his stomach. What did it mean?

He - he missed having Iron Man on the team when Tony was gone… maybe.

Steve sat there in silence for a long time, then, refusing to let something silly like a habit he hadn’t noticed mess with his day, he went back to setting up his work. The red and gold spread easily on the paper today, and when he stood back and looked at his finished work he smiled to himself. Iron Man’s imposing expression glared out of the page, one hand raised threateningly, repulsor glowing like a tiny sun. He liked it. He set it to dry and went to clean up, firmly pushing thoughts of Tony’s business trips out of his mind.

**

But he couldn’t ignore it forever. A month later, Tony went away again, for two weeks this time, and Steve couldn’t deny the urge to pull out a new page - even though he had two other paintings in progress. His fingers twitched to carve out the sharp edges of the metal armour, but he resisted. 

He sat on his stool for a long time, staring at the blank white page. Something new bloomed in his chest, slow and terrifying, but exhilarating too. He didn’t think that painting the armour was going to make him feel any better this time.

He set his other paints aside and dug out nothing but the black. A moment and several deep breaths later, he set to work.

When he was done, he rolled his stool back several feet and stared at what he had. Instead of the metal slits of the Iron Man armour looking back at him, it was Tony’s eyes, wide and expressive. The high contrast piece was just light and shadow, Tony, from the shoulders up. It was personal and intense and like nothing he’d ever painted before. The gentle burn in his chest blazed up and licked at his heart, shooting adrenaline through his veins. 

There was something he had to do.

Steve set his brush down, wiped his hands off messily and picked up his phone, smearing black paint over the screen but finding he didn't really care. If he took the time to clean up properly, he’d lose his nerve. Besides, Tony was always looking for an excuse to upgrade his phone. It rang for a long time, and he was debating hanging up and checking the time in Hong Kong when Tony picked up.

“Hey, Cap. Clint get his head stuck in a peanut butter jar again?”

Steve smiled and shook his head. “No. I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh.” Tony sounded pleasantly surprised. “Don’t think you’ve ever called me while I was away just to chat.”

“I should have.”

“Yeah… it would be nice.” Tony fell silent for a moment, nothing but the murmur of background voices coming through. “I mean, it is nice! I’m glad you called. What’s up?”

“I painted you.”

“You’d think I’d notice that,” Tony quipped. The background noise died down as if Tony had stepped out of the room into a quieter one.

Steve rolled his eyes. “I painted a portrait of you.” The words tumbled out in a mess.

“Another one? Cool. I can’t wait to see it.”

“No… this one’s not of Iron Man… It’s of  _ you.”  _

Tony went silent for a long stretch, the static of the phone line the only thing that let Steve know they hadn’t been disconnected. “Can I see it?” he finally asked, voice hushed.

Steve took a steadying breath. “Okay. One second.” He took a few steps back and held his phone up. He played with the light and angle, taking several shots before he had one he liked. He attached it to a text and hit send, fingers drumming nervously against his thigh.

“Wow.” Tony’s voice was tinny and distant, on speakerphone now.

“Do you like it?” He knew he was being needy, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking.

“It’s - wow. Yeah. I - do you really see me like that?”

“I do… Tony?”

“Yeah?” he breathed.

“When you get back, can I take you out for dinner?”

Tony fell silent again, and Steve squeezed his eyes closed and bounced his feet against the bracing bar of his stool. He wished more than ever that he could see Tony’s face now, read his expression.

“I’d love that.” There was a softness to his voice that Steve hadn’t heard before. “Like a date, right?”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“Yeah.”

They vibrated in a new kind of silence. And for the first time, Steve didn’t feel the urge to fill that negative space with colour. He let his eyes drift closed and listened to the weight of Tony’s presence on the other end of the phone, on the other end of the world, but right there in Steve’s room with him.

Then Tony spoke up, something light and soft in his tone. “Actually, one condition.”

“Anything,” Steve breathed.

“Can I keep the painting?”

Steve smiled, he opened his eyes and was met with the contrasting black and white of Tony’s, gazing back at him. “Of course.”


	5. "3 am"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They fell in love at 3 am, one day at a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For mrsgingles for [this gorgeous art!](http://mrsgingles.tumblr.com/post/153409986645/3-am-in-avengers-tower)
> 
> [Let's just ignore canon, shall we? ;)]

**3 am, Avengers Tower, September 4th, 2012**

The massive building was imposing at night, and a jolt of anxiety rushed through Steve’s stomach as he stepped in the elevator. He half expected to set off some sort of alarm, but Tony must have meant it when he said Steve’s security access was already in place months ago.

He’d been here before, once, after the Chitauri. Tony had offered the undamaged floors to the team after shawarma. They’d cleaned up, rested, then sent Loki back to Asgard with Thor.

And Steve had climbed on his bike and just… gone.

Tony had offered him a room from the start - a whole floor, apparently - but the trip had been the right choice. Still, it was nice to have somewhere to come home to, somewhere that wasn’t in a SHIELD barracks. The elevator hummed quietly up the modern glass floors of the tower, and Steve wondered if JARVIS was staying silent because he had nothing to say, because he wasn’t overly fond of Steve, or because he was worried about upsetting someone who came from before buildings could talk.

“Hello, JARVIS,” Steve tried.

“Good evening, Captain Rogers,” JARVIS replied politely. He didn’t sound upset, but Steve didn’t know what an upset robot would sound like, anyway.

“Uh, JARVIS? I know I have a floor here, or an apartment, or something, but is there any food there yet? I imagine not…”

“My apologies, Captain. Since your arrival is earlier than expected, I have not had the opportunity to stock your kitchen.”

“Oh. Well, if you can recommend a place that’s open this late, I’ll drop my bag and go back out… I guess.” Steve sighed and scrubbed his free hand over his face. It wasn’t an appealing prospect. He was hungry but also exhausted. Not tired enough to sleep, no, sleep had been rather elusive since he woke from the ice, but tired enough that the thought of going back out on the street and wandering around until he found food open at 3 in the morning was daunting.

“If I may,” JARVIS spoke up, “there is a communal floor shared by all the Avengers in residence. Which, of course, includes you, Captain. The kitchen is fully stocked, and I believe there’s even some leftover spaghetti bolognese from last night’s dinner. If you would prefer.”

“Oh, that sounds perfect, JARVIS, thank you. They won’t mind if I eat their food?”

“It’s shared food, Captain. You’re more than welcome to eat whatever you like. Private food stores are kept in each person’s apartment.”

“Right, of course. Thank you.”

The elevator slowed, and the doors opened at what was clearly the communal floor. There was a massive TV visible to the left, faced by a few squishy chairs and a wide, square couch. The kitchen on the opposite wall was sleek and modern, the kind Steve was sure he would leave fingerprints all over if he touched anything.

He knew he should shower and change first, before touching Tony’s perfect furniture, but he was so tired and the couch beckoned. He dumped his bag in the corner and walked around, intending to take a short rest then eat before going upstairs, but, a few steps closer, he realized the couch was occupied.

“Tony?” Tony was bent over the glass coffee table in front of him, peering at the Iron Man gauntlet which he had taken apart into several pieces and strewn out in front of him. He started up and spun, tugging earbuds out as he moved.

“Cap! Holy cow, give a delicate man a heart attack, why don’t you. I didn’t even know you were here, let alone skulking around the tower in the middle of the night.”

“I just arrived. Sorry, I’m earlier than I said. I made good time.”

“Of course, of course. That’s fine. Mi casa and all that.” Tony gestured in a vaguely benevolent manner and Steve chose to take it as an invitation to sit beside him on the couch, mostly because he was desperate to sit.

“What are you working on?”

“New toaster,” Tony quipped.

Steve snorted. “Of course you would make your toaster in red and gold.”

Tony twisted a tiny screwdriver deftly. “How was the See America Tour? Find yourself?”

“Not sure. I found this, though.” Steve leaned far over the arm of the couch to grab his duffle bag. He unzipped it and rummaged through until he came up with a small glass ball. He handed it to Tony.

Tony set down his screwdriver and pushed his glasses up his nose to peer at it. He broke into a grin and then full laughter. He shook the globe and fake snow dusted down over the tiny toy Iron Man, harnessed to a tiny toy sled full of Santa’s toys. “Oh my god.” He shook it again, laughing harder now. “The things people come up with. It’s not anywhere near Christmas - where did you find this?”

Steve shrugged. “Some stores are Christmas all year round. You have that thing for hokey Iron Man merch, I couldn’t resist.”

“Aww, Cap, you noticed. I love it. Thanks.” Tony set the snow globe down on the table next to the gauntlet and went back to work.

Steve slumped against the arm of the couch and tried to summon the energy to stand and find something to eat. He should also leave Tony in peace. They’d already run right off the end of how long a conversation usually lasted between them, at least one that wasn’t Loki-inspired fighting, and Steve wasn’t sure what other small talk he could rummage up. How’s work? Tony didn’t seem to like to talk about it. How are the others? Would that seem gossipy? Besides, he’d been trading emails with Natasha for most of his trip, so he was pretty sure there wasn’t anything Tony could tell him that he wouldn’t have already heard.

They sat in awkward silence for a few minutes while Steve’s stomach tried to convince his feet to move without luck. He startled out of a daze when Tony shot to his feet, dislodging the cushions.

“Hungry?” he asked, and Steve wondered if Tony had read his mind or heard his stomach.

“Yes.”

“Cool. Me Too.” Tony disappeared into the kitchen and when he came back, he had two bowls of amazing smelling pasta and two beers.

 

**3 am, Avengers Tower, November 13th, 2012**

“Another one?” The room echoed with groans from all sides. “What?” Tony’s indignance was cut through with laughter. “Adventure Time is the greatest show of this generation.”

“It’s three in the morning, Tony. I’m out.” Clint stood, and Natasha and Thor wafted out in his wake.

“Party poopers!” Tony called after them. Natasha turned as she slipped through the doorway and blew him a kiss.

Besides the two of them, Bruce was the only one who remained, but he was snoring softly in the big armchair in the corner, so Steve was pretty sure that to Tony, that wouldn’t count.

Tony turned back to Steve. “You’re up for another one, right?”

It was late, too late, and Steve had a meeting at SHIELD tomorrow, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He probably wasn’t going to be able to sleep anyway. “Sure.” He picked up the popcorn bowl while Tony flipped to the next episode and filtered through the unpopped kernels to get the bits of popcorn that remained.

“Oh man, this is a good one. You’re going to love it.” Tony shot Steve a brilliant grin, and Steve couldn’t help but grin back.

 

**3 am, Avengers Tower, February 23rd, 2013**

Steve rubbed his thumbs against his temples and breathed against the skin of his palms, trying to recite the alphabet backwards the way the SHIELD therapist had taught him to when he’d first woken up in a new century.

It helped get his breathing under control, but did little else to soothe the painful pounding in his chest. He wished he could just sleep through the night, instead of being awoken several times a week by a rush of acidic anxiety that wouldn’t let him go back to sleep for hours. Everything else would be so much easier if he could just sleep.

“Steve?”

He snapped his eyes up to find Tony standing at the edge of the couch, twisting the hem of his t-shirt between his fingers. “Shit.” He wiped his face with his hand and made to stand. “I thought I was here alone, sorry. I’ll go up to my room.”

“Are you okay?” Tony’s hand landed on Steve’s shoulder and guided him back to the couch cushions. He alighted beside him, one leg folded over underneath him so he could turn to face Steve.

“I’m fine.” Steve shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

Tony waited, silent, but his hand didn’t leave Steve’s shoulder.

“It’s nothing…” Steve repeated. He leaned forward onto his elbows and picked at the nails of one hand with the other. “Sometimes, I - I miss them, you know. Not that things aren’t good here, they are. And I’m grateful that you’ve given me a home. But. I miss them.” Flashes of Peggy’s smile and Bucky’s arm around his shoulder seized up his throat again.

Tony huffed out a pained-sounding breath. “Look, Steve, I’ll be the first to admit that I’m awful at this kind of thing. I always manage to say the wrong thing. So if you want me to fuck off and pretend I was never here, I can do that.” He paused, then sighed. “But if there’s something I can do… or say? Just tell me what it is.”

Steve realized with the clarity of clouds parting after a storm that Tony was his best friend. It had crept up on him, but it was undeniable now. He sat up and scraped his fingers over his scalp until he felt a little more grounded. He caught Tony’s eye and offered him a shaky smile. “Watch TV with me?”

“Always.”

 

**3 am, Avengers Tower, April 9th, 2013**

“You’re wrong,” Tony insisted, smacking the bottom of his glass against his palm to punctuate his point.

“You’re drunk,” Steve shot back, feeling a sort of lightheaded goofiness himself that he could only attribute to the late night and a second-hand buzz. His drink certainly had no effect.

“Doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

“What would it _do,_ though? Just… fly around?”

“And oink, I guess.”

Steve shook his head and shifted down more comfortably onto the couch cushions. He tucked the ends of his toes under Tony’s thigh to warm them, and Tony patted his knee companionably. “No, I don’t get it.”

“Well, what would you do then?”

“I dunno.” Steve picked at the edge of the glass coffee table. His eyes threatened to dip closed. “A cat, maybe? At least they have, like, fighting skills. What can a pig do?”

“But the whole point is that the suit gives him fighting skills. What does a cat need Iron Man armour for?”

“What do you need Iron Man armour for?” Steve shot back nonsensically.

“So I can get things off of tall shelves,” Tony explained.

“Good point.” Steve thought about it for a moment. “Do we really want a pig in the house who can get things off of tall shelves, though?”

“Hmm, yeah. Where would we keep the pig kibble then?”

“You’re drunk.” Steve hauled himself up until he was sitting again. He looked at his watch. “God, Tony, it’s three in the morning. We should be in bed.” But he made no move to stand. Tony was warm and easy at his feet, draping over Steve’s knees and gesturing wildly with one hand as he described his inebriated plan for an Iron Pig sidekick. Steve poked at him with one foot. “Go to bed, Tony.”

Tony turned to look at him. “Okay.” He didn’t move. Steve stared, waiting for the gears to click into place, while Tony considered him intensely. “You should get a swan. Swans are terrifying, and it’d look good in red and blue. You could probably even teach it to throw its own little shield with its beak. Captain Swanmerica.”

Steve tipped back down onto the couch, shaking his head, a wide smile breaking across his face. Just half an hour more, and then he’d _make_ Tony go to bed.

 

**3 am, Avengers Tower, June 2nd, 2013**

Steve peeled off the outer layers of his uniform and left them in a trail across the floor. He tugged the fridge open and pulled out an entire container of leftover curry. He dug into it with a spoon, cold, stumbling back over to the couch. He knew he should go up to his apartment and take a shower, but there was someone he needed to see first, and he was _starving -_

“Share?”

Tony’s appearance tugged his mouth down into a frown even while his heart sung in his chest. Tony was still in the undersuit, filthy, and with a gash starting just below his ear and disappearing down into his collar. Steve held out the container, and Tony sat beside him, digging in with the same spoon.

They were silent for a long time, working their way through the curry, trading the spoon back and forth. When the container was empty, Steve tossed it aside, searching for the right words.

“Steve. I’m sor-”

“No. _Fuck._ Tony you don’t get to be _sorry!”_ Steve slapped his hand over his mouth. He had meant to say something careful and calculated and filled with leadership, or something.

Tony’s voice shook when he spoke next. “I am... I’m so sorry.”

Steve dropped his face into his hands. “I thought you were going to die.” He looked back up and caught Tony’s terrified eyes.

“Me too,” Tony admitted in a tiny voice.

Steve reached out and grabbed Tony’s wrist with his hand. From there, it was like puzzle pieces snapping together, one at a time, each part of them fitting perfectly into the other. They met at the centre of the couch, Tony’s hands landing on Steve’s chest and knee, Steve’s other hand coming to Tony’s chin to tip it to the side and reveal the cut on his neck. He hissed in a hard breath.

They didn’t stop; this was normally where they stopped, but they could complete this picture with only a few more pieces. Tony shuffled closer until his thigh was pressed against Steve’s, his hand sliding up higher. Steve’s fingers left Tony’s chin and combed through his hair to clutch at the back of Tony’s head. It was inevitable, some magnetic field pulling them together bit by bit until Tony was in Steve’s lap and their mouths found each other.

Fireworks burst in Steve’s chest at the first touch of Tony’s warm lips against his. This was new and terrifying and wonderful, and Tony’s arms were wrapped around Steve’s neck now, and he could hardly breathe. He sunk back into the couch cushions, tugging Tony as closely as he could, his kisses turning feverish and desperate. Because Tony was here and he was alive and for a heart-stoppingly painful four minutes, Steve had thought he’d be spending the night on this couch alone, sobbing into couch cushions that had been warmed by their side-by-side bodies for so many months, and never would be again.

Tony broke their frantic kisses with a gasp, then smiled softly, running his palms around to Steve’s cheeks and cupping his face. “We should go to bed,” he murmured. “It’s like three in the morning.”

“I don’t think I can sleep,” Steve admitted, the unspoken _alone,_ hanging between them. The adrenaline rush of the battle combined with the barely subdued horror of seeing Tony go down was still churning through him, would be for a while.

Tony kissed him again then pulled back a scant inch to whisper against Steve’s lips, “Who said anything about sleep?”

 

**3 am, Avengers Tower, December 18th, 2014**

Steve blinked awake to a heavy weight across his chest that hadn’t been there when he’d dropped off to sleep. He stretched on the couch cushions, making Tony huff in his sleep and curl closer. His watch told him it just past three in the morning, which meant that Tony had probably been home for about an hour. Steve looked up at the ceiling and rolled his eyes. Of course, he’d just collapsed on top of Steve and conked out instead of waking him so they could both go up to bed.

The city that never slept spilled broken morning light through the tower windows, and once his eyes adjusted, Steve could see that Tony had managed to shed his suit jacket and his shoes, but nothing else. He lay on his stomach, flat across Steve, both of his legs bracketing Steve’s left. His hand and face were burrowed into Steve’s neck where he breathed warm, wet air in gentle puffs against Steve’s skin.

Steve tucked his arm more securely around Tony’s back, stroking his fingers over the soft fabric of Tony’s vest. Tony’s heartbeat was a steady rhythm against Steve's chest, next to the hard edge of the arc reactor pressing into his ribs. When he craned his neck, Steve could see a napkin bundle on the kitchen counter, hopefully wrapped around some of those cheese puffs Tony had promised to bring him home from the gala. He had a twinge of guilt that he hadn’t gone, but being Tony Stark’s boyfriend meant going to a lot of galas, and he’d needed a night in.

Tony muttered something in his sleep and curled closer, his socked feet twitching against Steve’s ankle, and Steve smiled, holding him closer. He wouldn’t be able to fall asleep again, not this close to the time he would normally be getting up anyway, but he had no desire to move. There was nowhere else in the world he’d rather be.


	6. "Wings"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It started as an itch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Crumbles_Of_Reality for the second piece from [this lovely art post!](https://crumbles-of-reality.tumblr.com/post/171247383743/a-collection-of-all-the-things-people-could-write#notes)

It started as an itch.

Tony shifted two pieces of the armour closer together, rocking up on his folded legs as he did so. The movement sent a flood of tingly prickles down the leg he’d been sitting on for the past… some number of hours, and he bit his lip and winced through the return of sensation. “You’re getting too old for this, Stark,” he muttered to himself.

He stretched out to grab at the metal plate again, and something twinged unpleasantly between his shoulder blades. It was that kind of intense, almost painful, itch that makes you drop everything and contort impossibly to get your fingernails on it. Tony yelped and squirmed around, trying to reach, but when his arms failed to stretch that far, he snatched a screwdriver and shoved it down the back of his shirt, moaning with relief when it made contact with the eye of the discomfort.

That was how Steve caught him, sitting awkwardly on the floor, twisted up, with one hand braced on a piece of the armour and one hand hooked back to wiggle the screwdriver over his irritated skin.

“Tony?”

Tony startled and spun his head around to catch sight of the speaker. “Hey, Cap.”

“Are you alright?”

“Just got a killer itch.” Tony wiggled the screwdriver again and bit back a moan. “Must have been stung or something.”

Steve’s brow creased with worry. “Not by one of the creatures from today?”

“Oh.” Tony ran through his memory of the battle. They’d taken down a massive mob of wasp-like creatures that threatened to swarm Queens. He’d been wearing the armour, so it seemed unlikely one of them could have gotten through to sting him. “It only started a moment ago…”

“Let me see.” Steve crouched down behind him and started tugging roughly at his shirt.

“Whoa, easy on the goods there, Cap.” Tony dropped the screwdriver and lifted the back of his tank top up to his neck. Steve made an awful noise. “What? What is it?”

“You broke the skin with that screwdriver… god, it looks _awful._ How hard were you scratching?”

“Not that hard,” Tony insisted. “It didn’t hurt, it just felt good. _Nugh -_ ” Steve’s finger brushed over the skin of Tony’s back, and the itch roared to life again. “Ah shit, it’s so itchy! Steve, _please,_ do something!”

“I don’t know what to do!” Steve’s hand landed on Tony’s back again, and Tony groaned, clenching his teeth. “I don’t want to hurt you, Tony, it’s bleeding. I need to clean this and probably take you to a doctor.”

“It doesn't hurt, it’s fine. It just itches.” Tony shifted up on to his knees, pulling away from Steve’s grasp and letting his shirt fall down again. If only he could - he imagined scratching up against a tree like a bear and almost sighed with relief at the mere thought. He arched his shoulders back, as if they could meet in the middle and rub against each other. He’d be able to think it out, if he could just get some relief, but -

“Ahh!” Steve yelped, and there was a rush like an airlock being opened then a thud. Tony’s arms pinwheeled as a sudden weight grabbed the back of his shoulders and pulled him off balance. His fingers caught in something, and he tried to turn - there was some huge shape behind him, looming terrifyingly, and Steve was still crying out. Tony’s chest constricted, and he tried to struggle to his feet, but the shape wrapped around him like fabric, rusting, constricting, it was like it was alive. “Tony!”

“Steve what the fuck is going on?!”

“Tony, _stop!”_ Steve’s sharp voice cut through the panic, and Tony stilled, forcing gulps of oxygen back into his lungs. “Don’t move, okay?”

“Okay.” He forced himself to breathe, still kneeling, tense, hands gripped on his thighs and eyes squeezed shut. There was movement behind him, and then the most intense feeling, a soothing, shuddering sort of soft pleasure rippled down his spine and settled warmly in his stomach. “Holy shit,” he bit out. “What did you do?”

“I - uh - I touched. I touched your wings,” Steve said with a carefully controlled tone of voice.

“You touched my what?”

More movement, then hands landed on top of Tony’s where they still gripped his thighs, making him startle. Steve’s voice was right in front of Tony’s face when he spoke next. “Tony… open your eyes.”

Tony peeled his eyes open slowly, letting out a tense breath when Steve’s gaze met his. “You touched my what?” he repeated, and Steve’s eyes shifted to the side. He reached out with one hand and sent that warm relief through Tony’s core again. When his hand reappeared in Tony’s vision it was clutching a handful of deep red, almost auburn, feathers, and something tugged between Tony’s shoulder blades. Tony tried to ask, yet again, but all that came out was a squeak. He flexed his back muscles and the feathers jumped in Steve’s hand, pulling back against the grip. Steve released them.

“You have wings,” Steve said very slowly and carefully, as if any sort of inflection on the statement would make Tony bolt. Or pass out. Both of which were feeling rather likely.

“I have wings,” he echoed, with similar flatness. Then he snorted. His hand came up to cover his mouth, but the manic laughter spilled through the gaps in his fingers. “Oh my god, I have _wings?”_

“They sort of… burst out of your back. Knocked me over.” Steve’s cheeks were flushing as if he found the whole thing rather embarrassing. “Do they hurt?”

Tony flexed again and felt the movement behind him. Steve’s eyes went wide as they danced around over Tony’s head, presumably watching the movement of the feathers. “No… and the itch is gone. They’re mostly just heavy.”

“Wild.”

“Yes. That’s the word,” Tony huffed.

Steve’s eyes cut back to Tony, and he winced. “Sorry. Strange?”

“You think strange is a better word?”

“No, I -” Steve rubbed his hand over his face. “Stephen Strange, Tony. Should we call Doctor Strange and ask him if he knows what might have caused this?”

“Oh. Yes. Good idea. JARVIS, patch our favourite goatee-sporting mystic through.” Steve caught his eye again, and they stared at each other in silence while they waited for the call to go through. Part of Tony wanted to turn around and look at the wings and part of him really, really didn’t.

“Stark?” Strange’s low rumble came through the speakers in the workshop.

“Hey there, pal. How’s that creepy sentient cape of yours? Still groping people on the subway and then laughing when you get slapped?”

Strange grumbled. “I don’t take the subway. Why are you calling me?”

“Oh yeah, you’ve got that ring thing, why would you? I’d still love to have at that someday, maybe do an electrical conduction test on it. See what makes it tick…”

“Tony.”

Steve was giving him A Look. “Right, sorry. So, I’m here with Steve, and I’ve got a bit of an issue that we - Steve - thought you might be able to help us with.”

“I see. Good afternoon, Captain,” Strange drawled.

“Doctor,” Steve said politely. “So Tony, uh, Tony has developed a bit of…”

“A case of wings,” Tony finished. “I have a raging case of wings.” He fluttered them for emphasis, even though Strange couldn’t see them, and Steve’s eyes went wider still.

“Wings?” Strange asked.

“Yes. I got terribly itchy, and then they sort of exploded out of my back. They’re very big and covered in feathers, and I can -” he flapped them and all the papers on his desk blew up into the air and swirled around to settle on the floor again “- move them.”

“I see. Well, wasn’t it you lot who were fighting the vespulians yesterday?”

“Yes? If that’s what those asshole wasp-things are called.”

Strange sighed. “Don’t you do any research before you charge in, guns blazing?”

“We would love to,” Tony bit back, “but someone’s hoarding all the knowledge. Now if you’d just let me have ten minutes in that library of yours…”

“It’s not safe to share these books with just anyone,” Strange said, and Tony mouthed along with the end of his sentence, rolling his eyes at the same time.

“Well, then the flip side is that most of the time we’re charging into battle blind, and we’ll be calling you to straighten it out for us. So use your good old doctoring skills to do a wingectomy so I can go back to fixing my suit.” Though even as he said it, Tony realized they were both ways to fly. Could he fly with the wings? That would be wild. Not as cool as with repulsor technology, but there was something delightfully old school about them.

“No need. They’ll be gone in a day or two. The venom from a vespulian can temporarily transfer an aspect of itself to whoever is affected, though it can have some odd results when used on humans. If you touched it, if it was on your armour at all, you could have been infected easily. But the effects usually only last about 48 hours, 72 at the most. You’ll be fine soon.”

“Oh, well. That’s a relief.” Tony let out a tense breath, and Steve echoed it, sinking down to the couch and rubbing his hands over his eyes. “Thanks, bud!”

“Goodbye.” The line disconnected.

“What a friendly fellow he is. You okay, Steve?”

Steve looked up, matched Tony’s gaze, then flicked over his shoulder again. “I’m fine. It just - I was worried. But if Strange says it’s okay…”

“As much of an asshole as Strange is, I trust him. Two, maybe three days of feathery fun, and then back to your regularly scheduled Tony Stark. In the meantime…” Tony grabbed Steve by the wrist and started dragging him towards the door, but the new weight at his back threw him off balance, and he ended up clutching Steve’s arm to keep from falling. “Whoops.”

Steve righted him. “Where are we going?”

“Steve. I don’t think you’ve thought through the full implications of these babies. What are wings _for?”_ Tony lead Steve into the elevator.

“...Flying?”

“Exactly, mon ami.” He smacked the elevator button and it hummed to life.

“Tony.”

“Yes?”

“Why are we going up?”

Tony didn’t answer. He grabbed Steve’s hand when the door opened and pulled him out on the roof. The wild wind whipped around their faces and set Tony’s feathers rustling. He could feel the air combing through them and the movement of the feathers as they flapped against each other. It was nice but nowhere near as nice as when Steve had touched them. He found himself wishing Steve would touch them again, but he wasn’t sure how to ask.

He gave an almighty flap, and Steve darted out and grabbed the hem of his tank top as his feet rose up off the rooftop. “Tony! Good god, we’re a hundred stories up. You can’t just start flying. What if you fall? What if you get blown away from the building?”

Tony reached down and slipped his fingers around Steve’s wrist, squeezing lightly, and Steve grabbed his in turn so they were locked together. “You won’t let me go? Right?”

Steve sighed. “Of course not.”

Tony practiced lifting a few feet off the group with powerful beats of his massive wings. He felt like he was finally starting to get the hang of them, and after only a few tries, he was able to lift up and drop down again with perfect control. Steve watched him with palpable awe the entire time.

Eventually, Tony landed, cheeks stinging from the brisk air, a permanent grin on his face and released Steve’s wrist, indicating with a gesture that he was done. Steve wandered a few steps away while Tony caught his breath. Flying was surprisingly hard work when it wasn’t repulsors lifting you off the ground.

“You didn’t tell me why we had to come up here to do this,” Steve said lightly, humour curling through his words.

“I can’t go out on the street. There will be phones, cameras, media. People see Tony Stark with _wings,_ what are they going to think?”

Steve chuckled. “They’re going to think you built them.” His eyes were twinkling.

“Why’s that?”

“They’re red and gold. Look.”

Tony stretched his wings back, then curled them forward until the tips circled around in front of his body and kissed lightly. He could see the layers of feathers clearly now, rows of smaller ones at the top and then long, elegant flight feathers curving down from the arched frame that held them. He reached out and stroked a finger along one of the long feathers, watching the tiny hairs part and come together again in its wake. The feathers were a deep, auburn red, but inside they’d looked dark and flat, caught partially in shadow. But outside… outside the sun was shining vividly, sinking lower in the sky as it worked its way deeper into the afternoon, and the sharp rays caught the feathers and lit them up. The red was wound through with strands of shimmering gold that twinkled and shined in the light they caught.

Tony stared at them for a long time then gently stretched them back again, folded close to his body and arching high above his head. He could feel them now, mapped onto his body in a way that let him know exactly where they were, even when he couldn’t see them. The movement revealed Steve, sitting on a ledge that marked the edge of the highest part of the roof, where it fell down to a lower portion below. He had his hands gripped on the brick wall, his eyes fixed on Tony. His cheeks were flushed pink, and his eyes were wide again, following the movement of the wings. Tony felt his skin heating under the scrutiny. “Sorry… it’s weird. You don’t have to stay if they gross you out.”

Steve opened and closed his mouth a few times. “It _is_ weird, I’ll admit that. But they absolutely don’t gross me out, Tony.” His expression softened into something warm, comforting. It filled Tony with the same sense of peace he’d felt when Steve had touched his wings.

Tony took a step forward and slowly, experimentally, reached out with one wing, stretching the feathers towards Steve. Steve’s bottom lip disappeared between his teeth, and he reached out, equally slowly, and slipped his fingers between the feathers. Tony sighed happily as the liquid peace dripped down his spine.

“You could never gross me out, Tony. They’re perfect. They’re amazing, like you.” His eyes shifted from the feathers he was still petting to Tony’s face, and his blush deepened. Their gazes locked. “I think they’re beautiful.”


	7. "Air Support"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Cap needs to call in a little extra support.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Dophne for [this lovely art here.](https://queendophne.tumblr.com/post/160518230819/all-captain-america-needs-is-his#notes)

The air was heavy with smoke and concrete dust, and every breath in felt like an effort, even for Steve’s super-powered lungs. He was sore, bruised, and dirty, but they’d won. It was close enough to a win, anyway. 

Well, they hadn’t _ lost. _

In the distance, he could hear the sirens and megaphones that meant SHIELD cleanup had started, but here, where a back alley met a street that was now mostly covered with the wreckage of a broken building, things were quiet. The other Avengers were spread out over a four-block radius; he could hear them on the comm, reviewing SOP with the SHIELD officials or helping injured civilians to the ambulances. Steve tried to summon the energy to go join them, see what he could do, but his bones creaked, and his muscles ached, and he still couldn’t seem to get a full breath in against the tight bands around his chest.

Sometimes, it still felt like he had asthma, but he knew he didn’t; that wasn’t what this was about.

He tried to go help, but instead, he took two steps to the left and crumpled down on top of a large piece of broken concrete foundation. The rough edges dug into his thighs. He braced his elbow against his knee, and his head - suddenly too heavy for his neck - tipped to the side to land on his closed fist. He watched the black smoke curl into the sky. It smelled like burning - and not the nice kind of burning. It wasn't a wood fire crackling on a winter day or the waxy smoke of a candle, it was acrid, like singed hair. It tingled at the back of his throat.

His uniform was streaked with dirt and blood that he wasn’t sure was his. He wiped the back of his free hand against his cheek, probably making the inevitable mess on his face even worse, and the nipping pain of a fresh cut made him wince. Soon, he would stand, join the team, help clear the area, and when the last civilian was safely extracted, and the last SHIELD van had trundled around the corner, headed for home, and all these people and businesses were getting ready to start the first day of whatever came next, after all that, he would go home. 

He’d go to the tower and peel off the suit and climb in a shower hot enough to feel like he was taking a layer of skin off. And the cut on his cheek would fade away - shockingly fast - and the ache in his muscles would disappear, and these streets would rebuild. And when the next threat came, he’d stand up and they would fight and they would win.

But right now, right in this moment, Steve was tired.

He opened his mouth to speak, but his breath caught in his throat. He pushed it out again, coughed. “Iron Man?” he said carefully. The comm lines were open to all of SHIELD’s cleanup crew right now, as well as Fury and Hill, and he wasn’t interested in sharing this vulnerability with all of them. But there was something he needed.

“Yes?” Tony sounded surprised. Steve had called the All Clear, so the obvious tension in his voice was surely unexpected.

“I could - uh - use some air support?” Steve said softly, trying to will Tony to understand what he couldn’t say in front of a hundred of their coworkers and subordinates.

There was a moment’s heavy pause where Steve could feel Tony parsing those words, gears ticking in his genius brain. “Inbound,” he replied, short, simple, emotionless.

A moment later the roar of repulsors cut through the sky over Steve’s head then hummed down behind him before shutting off entirely. Steve didn’t turn as metal boots stomped their way across the wreckage. A heavy, gauntleted hand landed on Steve’s shoulder, and his next breath was the first one in over an hour that felt like it had any oxygen in it. 

He turned his face up to Tony in time to catch him flipping the faceplate open. They didn’t speak - the comms were still live and disconnecting would cause significant distress at HQ at this point, especially after Steve’s carefully coded cry for help - but they looked at each other. And seeing Tony here and alive and beside him settled like a soft blanket around Steve’s weary shoulders.

Steve let out another shaky sigh and tipped forward until his forehead pressed against Tony’s stomach. The plates of the armour still stood between Steve’s head and the soft heat of Tony, but he knew what it felt like to have all that smooth, olive skin bared to him, how warm it would be under his fingers, his lips. And when Tony carded his metal-covered fingers through Steve’s hair, Steve could imagine they were his bare fingers, nails scraping lightly against his scalp as he furrowed them deep between the strands. 

Tony cupped the back of Steve’s head gently, and Steve’s hands came up to rest on Tony’s hips. He let his eyes slip closed and breathed in deeper, imagining the smell of Tony around him - mint and WD-40 and coffee - instead of ash and dust and blood. They stayed that way for a long time.

“Cap, you okay?” Hill’s voice crackled through the comm, startling them both. 

Steve tipped his chin up and met Tony’s warm, loving gaze beaming down at him. He found the strength to stand. “On my way.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Make sure to go give these amazing artists some love. 
> 
> There's a [tumblr post over here](http://festiveferret.tumblr.com/post/171977431735/artfic-madness-challenge) if you want click links to everyone's work.
> 
> <3 <3


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